A Datapad in the Unknown Regions
by Michiko Mokuyaba
Summary: Exile Yolee Jembardo finds a datapad left for her on an uncharted world after contronfting Darth Treya and leaving.


Although I know not why, some unknown force has prompted me to write this journal; this confession; this caution. Although I suspect it to be _the _unknown Force. As my former masters were so fond of saying, there are no coincidences, and there is no luck, there is only the Force. I like to believe that this holds true also for untraceable compulsions toward action. To write out my thoughts and notions here may serve you well, General Yolee Jembardo. Yes, I know the only being who could ever find this will be you. I've seen you here among the other ceaseless visions that haunt me. Persistent visions of woe, fear, dread, and terror. You are the one shining beacon here. I can feel the galaxy as I know it slipping away. I can feel that the spirit of the republic has soured in my absence. I truly believe that there's nothing I could have done to prevent that. Everyone who came across me in my mad quest was right, I am no more than a shell of my former self. Though even a shell has its purpose. I believe that what I'm doing here is very important, if for no other reason than to set the stage for you.

Perhaps you know my reasons for coming here. Then again, perhaps not. This I have not seen in my visions. I've only seen you as a figure; a promise; a cure for the woes that echo through this hateful planet. They say that two wrongs don't make a right, but I think in this instance two wounds might make a whole. But, if for no other reason than for the benefit of my own clarity in this wretched, maddening place, I will write out my motivations again. And undoubtedly again after that as I slowly delve further into insanity.

I came to the Unknown Regions searching for something, some sign of evil or darkness, I believe, although fickle as my mind now is, I know not what and haven't know for ages now. Although this planet is the key. It's somehow important to the search I have conducted. There are tombs here, unlike any I've seen. The air in these parts taste of the same foul taint that corrupts Korriban, but it is less diluted, less spread out amongst sapients. The Force flows here like a maelstrom, cutting; whirling; chopping. It doesn't care what gets in its way, it has no concept of the living any more. It seems as if this is the Force if removed from life. I did not know it possible, but with how dry and dead this planet is, I am only left with such an assumption.

The current date is fifteen months after I departed Republic space. I would never have known that were it not for the computers aboard the _Ebon Hawk_. It feels as though I have been absent for a lifetime. Perhaps two or three. I have managed to all but separate myself from the Force bond I once shared so intimately with Bastila, though it is not severed entirely. I'm not certain that both of us would survive the experience even if we could sever ourselves entirely. Though it pains and sickens me to do so, and be without the warmth and hope of she provided me for my self-imposed exile, I know this is best. She would suffer the same insanity I now do, had I not closed myself off as much as I could. And all though I know this is best and I do all in my power to protect her, when I dream, the few nights that I manage to, and indulge in trying to sleep, I can still feel her, mournfully calling out to me. But I must resist the urged to follow those calls. She was right in the first place. Love with ruin us both. And as she must now reluctantly take on the role of Master to rebuild the Order, so to must I take on the role of exile that I may see, learn, and find whatever it is I'm here to find.

As for you, Yolee, you must by now have found my ship and droid. I will have parted ways with them by the time you're here that you might find this place. The planet I go to rest on may be my last. Should you do here whatever it is I've failed, then many the Force guard and guide you further. I hold out hope that you will fare better against these visions than I. I, who am a creature of absolutes; rising to grace as a child; from it as a war hero and Lord of the Sith, being reborn into the graces of the light because of the council, only to fall and rise once more hunting down my former apprentice. Say not that I am resilient. I am too weak to remain on either side of the Force's delicate balance. My mind, rebuilt as it was, cannot find the knowledge and tactics that once I wielded as a deadly weapon. Nor can my mind hold and instill in detail. All I know, and all I am now able to know are vague recollections and generalities.

You, however, have always been better equipped to walk the finer lines in the middle of the 都idesof the Force. You held yourself to good ideals, but when you were call upon to submit yourself to evil for the greater good, you knew what had to be done. You did not fall as I inevitably did, you simply lived with the burden, acknowledging it, and refusing to embrace it, and by embracing it, fall into darkness. I envy you that strength, that unshakable knowledge of who you are. Force hold you to that. You will need every piece of that in the trials ahead.

I weaken, and visions of a past I know only from history books assault me relentlessly. I will take the _Ebon Hawk _away from this planet to try and collect myself and recover from the power of this world, and I will send T3-M4 with it, buried deep in his memory core will be important information and records. I have no doubt you will have the means to find them if left to your own devices. Whether I whither from the addiction I have formed to this accursed planet, or I manage to one day be whole again, do no look for me. When the time is right, on way or another, Bastila, my sweet Bastila, will know.

The point of this missive is not so that you may know my trials, though certainly I have spent enough lines to convey them in more detail than you needed to sift through. The reason I compose this is to offer cautions advice in the hopes that you succeed where I have not. You must unlearn everything you have learned, and all your instincts to survive these tombs, no, this entire planet. The foods that taste of death and poison are the only ones that are not toxic. The path that looks the safest is always the one laden with traps.

Do not rely on the codes, as I have. It matters not which you follow, the Jedi or the Sith. I no longer know with whom you ally yourself, nor do I care. I have risen and fallen so many times in my short stay here that I could not tell you which side had more merit if I tried. In the end, they are the same. They're tools to tell you how to think, they're information that allows and outside influence knowledge about you that it otherwise wouldn't have. Do not allow yourself to be read so. Develop more of a pazzak strategy to your thinking, if you can. You will need it in the times ahead.

And though the most bitter of loneliness will course palpably through your veins, I implore you, ignore it as best you can. If you value those who love you, those who are connected to you, then do not draw them here, neither mentally nor physically. Although this temptation will be strong, you must not allow it! Your ability to sustain a bond as you do is a necessity to surviving this place and it's crucibles. It will allow your mind the brief reprieves that will keep you alive and sane.

There's also a more sinister side to this necessity. I do not claim as full and detailed a knowledge on this as I would like, so do not take these as authority. Force guide you to peace as you read these lines.

I know of the wound and the hunger that afflicts you. With the certainty of a madman, I know it. I've felt it in my mind's eye, and I've heard the echo of utter silence spread through all that you have touched. I know that you will feel whole again by the time you read this, but you are not. You are being eaten by your own hollowness, and you know this to be true. It is killing you slowly, even while invigorating you. It's also killing those around you. You know this as well. But I believe this affliction is what shapes your destiny in the greater scheme. If I am correct, you will not be heralded hero, nor will you likely be remembered by sapients for this deed, but I believe your sacrifice here is needed. Though I loathe calling you to your doom, especially as second time, I believe it's even more than simply the galaxy at stake this time.

The wound inside you that swallows up life and cuts through the Force like a knife, I believe it is what will deliver these . . . Visions, forces, whatever they are, from plaguing this world further. They're vengeful lingering remnants of the past, and they have knowledge and strength that is dangerous as is, but if they should be stumbled upon my someone who is not looking for them, they become an even worse hazard. And as long as they persist, so too does their power, and threat. Destiny calls you, Yolee, and I beg you as I never before have begged to heed its call. Would that I could die for you, broken as I already am, but I cannot. I pray that I am wrong, and that you will survive this duty, but I doubt is so thoroughly that I barely dare mention this next of possibilities at all. But at this juncture, I feel it may be better to tell the truth than to refuse on the assumption that false hope will do no good.

This planet gums my mind, fills the broken gaps with what cannot have been true, and yet I cannot disprove. It's conceivable that this will be the healing place for us both. In time, my mind may even be restored to what it once was. Whether I hope for this or not, I do not yet know. Something cause me to change from the padawan I was in my youth to the Sith Lord I was before my painful rebirth at the hands of the Council. And I fear whatever that thing is that someday I will remember.

Along the same vein, though, your affliction, the horrible tear that you carry through the Force may also be filled. I pray you will not hold out faith that it will, and that hope doesn't fill you for something that may well be impossible, but after the things I've seen and remembered here, I could not sit by and withhold information of even the slightest possibilities, or even notions and inklings I have. You will find me quite mentally incontinent by this time.

I believe you were shaped as a tool of destiny. I believe the Force guided you through Malachor, forging you with the rift that you would heal this place, burdensome through that fate is. I hope that I am correct, and that all the people who died that day to wound you as you are did not die in vain. I hope they did not die, only to create the death you carry with you. I believe with the fiery passion of a prophet that their sacrifice meant something, and the Force called on them to fulfill their purpose. I wish you peace, Yolee, all the peace that one person can happily endure, and not an ounce more. I, too, must now heed the call of destiny. I must me somewhere else.

Should we ever meet again, should both of us by some form of miracle survive these ordeals, you will be counted as friend to me. And hero.

Goodbye, Exile.

-Revan.


End file.
